What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger
Sept 2001, just after 9/11, I left NZ and headed for England, not sure where the next stage in my life would take me. I’d spent the past three years teaching English as a foreign language, in Sri Lanka, Japan and New Zealand so it wasn’t long before I was teaching at boarding and summer schools in England and Austria. It was at one of these schools that I met my husband, Matthew Chadwick. On first meeting, in fact, the summer of 2002 we avoided each other, neither having the best first impression of the other! The following summer, sitting next to him at dinner on the first evening, we started chatting and shortly after he started to share his story with me. In 1995 Matt was diagnosed with a grade 3 glioblastoma or brain tumour. This then developed into a grade 4 (aggressive) tumour and thankfully Matt split up with his then girlfriend and moved back to his parents and under the care of the QE Hospital in Birmingham. His surgeon, Prof Cruickshank took a gamble and operated on Matt in January 1998 giving him 14 months to live.
There’s nothing like a deadline to give you a bit of perspective. Initially Matt waited, waited for the 14 months to pass and then he realised he had a choice. He could live and make the most of whatever time he had left or he could live in fear. He chose to live. Matt took a trip to Mexico with a friend and met some English as a foreign language teachers and decided it would be a great way to work and travel the world. That’s how serendipity brought us together the summer of 2002. In 2004 we were teaching in Siracusa, Sicily, when Matt proposed. The plan was for Matt to do his PGCE (teaching certificate) and NQT year in England and then to apply for jobs at international schools so we could continue travelling and exploring the world. Life didn’t quite go to plan. The stress of studying and then teaching full time started to take a toll on Matt’s health. Initially it was just fatigue but then he started having epileptic seizures. Loving teaching and determined not to let cancer define him, he reduced his hours and upped his medication.
On New Years Eve 2012, five years into Matt’s teaching career, he heavy heartedly announced that it was no longer fair to himself or the students for him to continue teaching. He was having constant seizures and his right side was getting weaker and weaker. Scans didn’t show anything unusual so Prof Cruickshank thought there might be some scar tissue causing the seizures and an operation to remove it was scheduled for 25 April 2012. The day of the operation arrived and as part of the pre op admission, they did some routine scans. Turns out Matt had rather a big blood clot and his brain tumour was back with a vengeance.
Rather than an operation, Matt was admitted to the QE hospital and put on palliative chemotherapy. It was at this time that work offered me a new role on an ambitious pilot project that would demand even more of my time but was an opportunity that would be career suicide to turn down. I decided I needed the distraction, something other than the reality of the current situation to focus on and accepted the role.
Life changed pretty quickly. My working hours increased as Matt’s health deteriorated. His right side became very weak, so much so that he’d drag his right foot and struggled with grip in his right hand and arm making day to day tasks like buttoning a shirt or holding a knife a challenge. Our relationship started to change as I took on the role of carer, trying to help Matt but, the stubborn bugger that he was, he was determined to do things for himself. It was frustrating to watch him do the simplest of tasks and yet to help him would be to take away what little independence he had left. Matt developed aphasia — initially getting words muddled up and then he struggled to speak at all. To protect myself from the inevitable loss I started to distance myself but this just resulted in me being racked with guilt. Guilt that I wasn’t being the wife I wanted to be for him, guilt that I was spending so much time at work, guilt that I couldn’t do anything to make it better.
I used work as an escape. I had an hours drive each way and I often found myself crying on these commutes, overwhelmed and tired. As a way of expressing my support for Matt, I started entering charity challenges such as the London Marathon, Race the Sun and Relay GB. Training for these endurance events was my way of getting “me time”. The endless hours pounding the streets gave me time to think and while I’d come back physically exhausted, emotionally I would be recharged.
Matt had an amazing attitude and even at his lowest, he still had his sense of humour and kept positive. He showed no fear of hospital visits or treatments and was a tower of strength for me. The way he coped with his illness helped me care for him and come to terms with what was inevitably going to happen.
18 and a half months after his tumour came back, Matt passed away, surrounded by his family and friends. At 36 years old, I was now Kris, the widow. I belonged to a club I didn’t want membership of and didn’t know anyone else who was in my situation. I had lost my husband and best friend and the person who grounded me. I was desperate for normality and headed back to work, full time, straight back into it. Unfortunately there was no understanding that I was still processing my grief and needed time, space and understanding to heal. Five months after returning to work I was at breaking point and ended up taking time out to look after myself.
I realised I needed a fresh start so packed up and moved to London. I had a fear of being by myself — I didn’t want to face the reality of being alone so I packed my evenings and weekends with social events and travel, making up for the two years of caring for Matt when I couldn’t have a social life. The next few years saw continued change as Matt’s mum developed breast cancer, my sister and then father passed away and Matt’s youngest brother died within a year of his cancer diagnosis.
In March 2018 I was diagnosed with incurable, advanced breast cancer — breast cancer that had spread to the bone, namely the spine and pelvis. I was in shock and had yet again joined a club I didn’t want to belong to — the cancer club. Life had just started to balance out for me. After several years of a mind numbing job, I had finally found a role I could invest myself into, in a stimulating work environment. I had just begun looking to buy a flat in London and had a couple of holidays abroad planned for later in the year.
All of that was put on hold and I entered a period of limbo and uncertainty. I had a 5 cm tumour in my breast, cancer in my lymph nodes, my upper and lower spine and a fractured pelvis. I was told I would have palliative chemotherapy starting as soon as all the scans and tests were completed. On the day of my first treatment my spine was seized so tightly that I could barely lift my arms to eat breakfast and had to crawl to move around.
Thankfully, I responded well to the chemotherapy. This meant that surgery and radiotherapy became options. From childhood, I had a fear and dislike of hospitals and a hatred of needles. I was petrified of the thought of having to stay in hospital overnight. However, having seen Matt go through his treatment, understanding how the process worked, and knowing that Matt coped with his scans, blood tests and treatments gave me the strength to cope and even not fear my treatment journey.
My experience caring for Matt gave me perspective as a carer. I knew how much I had wanted to help him, to be able to do anything to make it better, to show him he wasn’t going through this alone. I understood that when people offered to help they meant it and would appreciate being told how exactly they could help. The network of friends and family who got me through Matt’s illness and his passing rallied once again and not once did I feel lonely or go to a hospital appointment by myself. I was truly blessed to be surrounded by love and support with friends and family flying half way round the world to be there for me. Precious memories were made that year.
Matt hadn’t wanted to be defined by cancer and neither do I. I have Matt as my inspiration, helping me navigate my way through my cancer treatment and into my new normal, living well with cancer.
